


Castle Down

by catsvrsdogscatswin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, WHICH MEANS I CAN SAY DESTIEL NOW HAHA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsvrsdogscatswin/pseuds/catsvrsdogscatswin
Summary: Let a righteous man strike me—that is a kindness; let him rebuke me—that is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it, for my prayer will still be against the deeds of evildoers.–Psalm 141:5.A look at the events of Cas and Dean's first meeting as seen through Castiel's eyes. A little something to show how far our angel has come.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111





	1. Lazarus Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in honor of TONIGHT'S FUCKING EPISODE, I'm cross-posting a little work that I did way back when I'd only seen up until the fifth season of _Supernatural_. It was originally an idea of writing down the series with a focus on Destiel, but like...that's a heck of a lot of work, my dudes. We'll see what we see. This MAY eventually be a multichapter work covering more of the series.
> 
> Anyways, Cas is and was my favorite character, and this was my first non-anime work of fiction, sort of to prove I actually could write non-anime fiction. Hence the canonical grey area between this being taken as Destiel or Cas going _"OMG it's the Righteous Man I've heard so much about you in Heaven can you sign my trenchcoat pls sorry for being so embarrassingly geeky I've just heard so much about you."_
> 
> Enjoy!

Castiel –often spelled Cassiel or Caßiel, a common translation error made by humans– is not pleased with what it finds finds in Hell.

The Righteous Man has already undone the seal, and is flaying other damned souls left and right. Castiel wishes to chide him, but that is not Castiel's place; the Righteous Man's soul must be healed and carried back up to the body already repaired and waiting for its host.

Castiel's Grace reforms into a rough humanoid shape, as small as Castiel can make it –which is still slightly taller than the Righteous Man as he now perceives himself; a soul, nothing more, flickering and sliding from one moment to the next and fraying at the edges, a mutable maelstrom of color and sensation and memories wound tight in the form that the Righteous Man remembers last – himself as a human male roughly thirty years of age. Castiel does not wish to appear threatening to the Righteous Man –he must know that this is succor, not more torment.

So Castiel is gentle, at first, lightly touching the soul by the shoulder, trying to pull him away from the rack that now stands as summation of the Righteous Man's entire world. The minions of Hell are close behind Castiel and the garrison, but Castiel can see, behind the crimson streaks of anger and the black swirls of pain, the murky amber glow of a soul sunk long in suffering, a shimmer of gold and blue and green –the Righteous Man at his core, loathing these actions, loathing this place, and pulsing with love; faint, bittersweet memories and the thought of _at least it's me and not Sammy…_

The Righteous Man turns. Sees Castiel.

Attacks.

He is lashing out like a wounded animal, seeing nothing but enemies, cornered by his own fear. Castiel knows then that there will be much work to be done to restore the Righteous Man, and hears the cries of the other angels and the roars of the demons approaching. There is no more time to waste.

Castiel reaches out again, taking the Righteous Man by the arm –and this time, Castiel does not let go. The Righteous Man's soul cries out in pain and fear as Castiel's Grace fills it, cleansing, scouring, _purging_ , and Castiel can feel the mark branding itself onto his left shoulder, the mark of Castiel's incorporeal hand, the mark of Castiel's Grace which is even now threading itself through the Righteous Man like a vine, running like veins throughout his intangible body.

The grip of Castiel's Grace tightens, the vines clutch, the veins twist and latch on, and Castiel pulls Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, from Hell.

* * *

The soul is deposited into the body as swiftly and gently as Castiel can manage. It has been hard, rebuilding the tattered shell of meat cell by cell by cell, and Castiel hopes neutrally that the Righteous Man will find it acceptable for his use, for Castiel found itself unable to mar what it was re-creating. There are no scars, no damaged muscle. No broken and thrice-healed bones. Castiel may be a soldier but Castiel is still an angel, and anything less than perfection is irksome to it. Castiel understands that the Righteous Man is human, and may feel differently, but on the whole Castiel thinks not. It is a good body, and the Righteous Man's own. He should have no problems with its operation or aesthetic.

Still, Castiel hovers, waiting patiently, as the Righteous Man awakes within his body with a jolt and gasp of breath. The soul flickers and blurs in its new cage, as the Righteous Man re-remembers how to operate his own flesh, but then it settles. Castiel continues to wait, and it is only when the Righteous Man frees himself from his coffin and claws his way up to the surface, comfortable and secure and safe beyond all doubts within his skin, that Castiel returns to Heaven to make the report that so many have been waiting for.

_Dean Winchester is saved._

* * *

Castiel is ordered to return and make contact. It is an honor, to be the first amongst the host of Heaven to speak to the Righteous Man, just as it was to be the one to raise him from Hell, and Castiel vows to serve with distinction. This is their Father's plan, and Castiel will do well.

When Castiel returns to Earth, it finds the Righteous Man in an abandoned building for refueling motor vehicles. The Righteous Man is ransacking the place, looking for food, water, and other things he deems necessities –coins from the till and several magazines with buxom females on the front.

Castiel attempts to speak to him, to initiate the conversation forty Hell-years in coming, and the sensitive electronics in the building begin to hum and malfunction as Castiel's Grace brushes past them. The Righteous Man is alarmed, and Castiel attempts to speak louder, to warn him that the salt he is currently laying over the doors and windows is unnecessary. The Righteous Man winces as he continues to pour salt from a canister along the doorframe, putting his free hand to his ear and grunting in pain.

Castiel is mildly surprised that the Righteous Man cannot hear Castiel's voice, Castiel's true voice, and tries one last time to pierce through the flimsy white noise that muffles human eardrums.

The windows of the building shatter, and the Righteous Man cries out in agony, collapsing to the ground as specks of shattered glass rain down top him.

Chagrined, Castiel leaves to report this failure to Heaven. Castiel does not need nor wish to harm the Righteous Man –only communicate. Perhaps, Castiel has committed an error; for surely the Righteous Man, who shall end what has already been begun, would not be deaf to the ones he was born to lead.

* * *

However, after Castiel attempts to make contact, there is an insistent pull at the edges of its Grace. Someone is attempting to find Castiel –to contact it. Castiel knows who within less than a second; the weakness, the delicacy of the call marks it as one of human agency, and Castiel understands that it is a séance of sorts, provided by a psychic, and that the Righteous Man is part of the chain. They are trying to see Castiel, to discover what Castiel is. This cannot be permitted; if the Righteous Man cannot bear Castiel's voice, then surely the same followed for his companions, and gazing upon Castiel's form would be even more damaging.

"Show me your face!"

_My name is Castiel._

Its name is enough, for now. Surely they would be satisfied by that –the humans could scuttle after their books and tomes and spend their time looking for Castiel's nature that way.

"Castiel?

 _Yes_. Castiel becomes mildly concerned when the thin thread of human awareness continues pushing at it, trying to force itself through the veil. _Turn back. You must not see._

"Sorry Castiel, I don't scare that easily."

_I am not attempting to threaten, but–_

Too late. The human soul erupts in agony as it glimpses Castiel, eyes aflame, and Castiel immediately shunts the squirming, sobbing flicker of consciousness back through the veil before it can see more, before the entire soul can be consumed by fire from the reflected celestial glow of Castiel's form.

* * *

Castiel is ordered to try to communicate to the Righteous Man again, and admonished for its harshness. Castiel apologizes, only that the Righteous Man seemed unable to hear Castiel's voice at all –just the same shrill, eerie whine that echoed from it on the material plane. Castiel's superiors are concerned at that, just as Castiel was. They order Castiel, once more, to try again.

Castiel obeys without asking for more information, once again returning to Earth. The Righteous Man has changed locations –he is in a habitation for overnight stays– and Castiel – _gently_ – attempts to speak with him once more.

The televised box begins to flicker with static, and the Righteous Man stirs from sleep, quickly pushing aside the book that had fallen from his slackened hands. He grabs a gun, leaps from the bed, and is still completely unaware of the words as Castiel tries to whisper through the veil. The human takes a ready stance, aiming for the entrance doorway, and Castiel again, despite itself, speaks louder, trying once more to warn him against his needless actions.

A cringe shudders through the Righteous Man's body, and he tucks the side of his head against his shoulder and puts a free hand to one ear, trying to protect his fragile human eardrums.

Castiel is ordered by his superiors to raise the volume, and it does –and every piece of glass in the room cracks, shatters, and explodes as the Righteous Man falls and curls on the ground, lunging out of the way of a falling mirror that was once attached to the ceiling.

The door bangs open and, once Castiel recognizes the newcomer as nonthreatening, he leaves to make another report.

* * *

The Righteous Man is deaf to their voices. This causes some consternation amongst the angelic ranks as the news is delivered, and Castiel waits patiently for its next orders. It does not like to be the bearer of bad news, and feels, in some irrational way, that the Righteous Man's deafness is it's fault. Perhaps Castiel had repaired him incorrectly. Castiel does not like the idea, but, thankfully, it knows that no fault could be found with its repairs. The Righteous Man was simply not meant to hear the angels as they were.

And so, after swift discussion amongst the higher ranks, Castiel is told to find a vessel.

The notion is an uncomfortable one, but Castiel obeys nonetheless. It is an honor to take the form of their Father's favorite creation, and Castiel will treat it as such...though it has heard stories about human hosts...how limited they are, how fragile. Castiel does not wish to harm the host that it will eventually use, for hatred of them is how Lucifer fell, but humans are delicate little wisps of beings as it is, their shred-thin bodies unable to cope with the power of Grace moving through them. Castiel knows that it will damage whoever it possesses –mentally, if not physically– and it worries mutely about the outcome. It has taken a vessel before, but only for moments, only for long enough to ensure the death of that renegade angel and Nephilim. This possession would be weeks, if not months. Perhaps even years.

Orders, however, are orders, and it would be unthinkable to disobey. This is the will of God: Castiel's irrelevant preferences must be set aside for now.

Castiel finds the host chosen for it swiftly: one James Novak, known colloquially as Jimmy. James is a faithful and devout man, and Castiel is pleased with the strength of his body's fabric –of his makeup as a host.

But Castiel must hurry. It must take James –Jimmy– Novak's body soon, before another attempt can be made and another human needlessly harmed.

* * *

Jimmy Novak, for the brief few seconds before Castiel curls his awareness into a little ball and tucks it away, protected by and from the angel's Grace, likens the sensation to being smothered in a blanket. All Castiel knows is that the sudden encapsulation of flesh is burdensome, heavy, muffling, so _limited_ compared to Castiel's senses as an angel. The vessel's eyes can barely register anything on the material plane and absolutely nothing _off_ of it, and Castiel feels as though it's been blinded. Hearing is equally muted. Taste is practically gone. There is nothing in the air that Castiel can scent.

Castiel already mildly dislikes taking a vessel, but it is a discomfort that Castiel will gladly put up with for the mission that Castiel's superiors have bestowed upon it. Possessing a vessel becomes easier with time –that is a well-known fact amongst the ranks of Heaven. Castiel will learn how to operate this body and utilize its frail senses as vectors for Castiel's own. The human system is unfamiliar from the inside, but trivial to master. Castiel can use it as a stepping stone to access its angelic senses, which are so excruciatingly sharper than a human's.

Castiel will not fail the task given to –him. Yes. That is the gender of the body Castiel now occupies. Castiel notes the difference in how the mind works –female minds are like balls of string or wire, ceaselessly humming and churning and flickering with thought, while the mind of a male is gridded, separate, like boxes stacked one upon the other. This one is male. Castiel is in a male body, with a male mind. Castiel is now male.

 _He_ realizes that this is part of the psychic bleedthrough that _he_ had been warned about by _his_ superiors. Castiel is still an angel, one of God's soldiers and as genderless as the blade it wields. Castiel is an omnidimensional wavelength of celestial intent: such minor distinctions as human gender are trivialities, beneath…him.

It is almost a reflex, Castiel notes, to think of himself –itself– as the gender of its vessel.

He sets off, ignoring the calls of Jimmy's offspring, knowing only the location of the Righteous Man and the fact that –he– must get to him soon, before any powerful demons came to whisk him back to Hell and ruin all of the garrison's hard work.

Castiel appears in the city within the blink of an eye, searching out the nearest spot of evil. If any high-ranking demons were around, the lower-ranking ones would know: vicious, unthinking, cannibalistic eyesores that their kind were, the very survival of the bottom feeders depended on knowing which and when the stronger ones were about.

That knowledge would be easily acquired on Castiel's part, with some properly applied force.

…the damage to the human vessels was regrettable, but they were all already fluttering on the edge of death already. Castiel had, at least, released them from the torment of being a prisoner within their own flesh –which, now that he had taken a host, he could sympathize, though it was _another's_ flesh and bone that he was trapped within.

And as he leaves the building of affordable eating, he feels it again.

The quiet, insistent tug of a summoning.

It was harder to resist within a corporeal body, though Castiel had no intention of doing do. He could feel the thread of the summoning, feel the energies of the humans at the other end of the "strand", and recognized the aura of the Righteous Man as though it were a signature.

Castiel submits, allowed the energies to compress his Grace and his host, and waits to manifest in the desired location. It is odd, allowing those other energies to direct his own: _painfully_ slow, taking whole needless seconds as they flailed, weak and uncontrolled, practically at random –humans were so incapable of controlling the arcane forces, it was almost worrisome.

But the weak little whirlwind finally stabilizes, and Castiel finds himself –itself– coming into being beside a sleek black automobile.

Castiel is still unused to this –to manifesting in a way bearable to humans– and the lambent aura of his Grace crackles out around him as he obediently follows the tug of the finalized ritual, rattling the thin wooden boards of the frail barn and pushing open the doors before him. The whisper-delicate human-made lamps shatter and pop as Castiel moves forward into the building, yellow sparks raining down upon Castiel's vessel.

The Righteous Man is not particularly pleased to see him.

Castiel understands this. The Righteous Man had been trained for almost all of his human life on Earth to hunt and kill monsters, harmful beings of evil, and Castiel understands that the act of burning out the psychic's eyes is attributed to be both intentional on his part and rather harmful – despite the fact that even humans gifted with Sight use their eyes for so very, very little. He does understand that humans value their eyesight, limited as it is, and the psychic's loss _is_ regretful, but he _did_ warn her not to look. She had only herself to blame: why, oh _why_ were his Father's favorite creations so stubbornly convinced that whatever they did was right, that the universe must stand aside for them and their whimsical human rules? They kept hurting themselves, touching fire and then becoming surprised when they were burnt. Castiel sometimes wished, amongst other things, that Father had given them –who were so very fragile, after all– better foresight and wisdom.

Castiel sees a subtle widening in the Righteous Man's eyes as he walks over the traps painted on the floor, and he and his companion –older by human count, but infinitesimally young to Castiel– begin by shooting him. Rock salt, a repellent for many dark creatures.

Castiel feels mildly disappointed in John Winchester's teachings as he continues walking forward without flinching, the salt tearing holes in Jimmy Novak's clothing. Though it is abundantly obvious that neither the Righteous Man nor his companion know what Castiel _truly_ is, rock salt would be no deterrent to a creature that could burn out a human's eyes from a great distance away. If he were intent on harming them, they would be dead already.

The Righteous Man must be stronger than this, to combat the evils that he will be set against.

Both humans lower their guns, and the Righteous Man moves to a nearby table, putting his back to it as he picks up a weapon.

"Who are you?" he asks, and Castiel sees confusion, fear, _doubt_ in the face of the Righteous Man, though his voice is strong and angry.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." Castiel replies earnestly, urging confidence into the Righteous Man with his words. He had rebuilt that tattered human mind, seen the Righteous Man's soul bared naked and vulnerable and torn in Hell –Castiel knows how delicate it is, how fragile the line of Dean Winchester's stability.

An aggressive curl mars the curve of the lips that Castiel had remade. "Yeah. Thanks for that." the Righteous Man sneers, unbelieving, insincere. Castiel nods courteously towards him regardless, for thanks given must be received, no matter how mockingly it is uttered. The Righteous Man lunges forward to bury the knife –the demon's knife– into Castiel's vessel's heart, and Castiel watches confusion, surprise, and more fear flash across the human's visage as it does nothing. Castiel is not terribly impressed by the swift and accurate move: had Dean Winchester not known how to quickly pierce the human heart with one blow, he would not have survived long as a hunter.

No, he is not impressed at all. Reckless, arrogant, self-assured, hasty –all the worst traits of his Father's creations, the ones that most often led to their own destruction.

Dean Winchester must be careful. He cannot afford to fall to human weaknesses now –not when the apocalypse was nigh. He must learn that not all he faces will be as forgiving, or as benign, as Castiel is now.

The Righteous Man's eyes widen as he swiftly lets go and backs away, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. Castiel looks down at the knife, and bears a silently rebuking look upon the startled-looking Righteous Man as he pulls the blade from the meat of his body. He drops it on the ground, and the Righteous Man and his companion exchange frightened looks.

It does not take long for a further attack to muster, and Castiel grabs the impending iron bar –so flimsy, so malleable– without tearing his eyes away from the face of the Righteous Man, the one he and his siblings fought and bled to save from Hell. He turns, lowering the makeshift weapon gently, and touches his fingertips to the elder human's forehead as his eyes roll back and he falls to the ground, unconscious.

Castiel can feel the outrage, the fear, the _emotions_ radiating off of the Righteous Man's soul as he begins to turn away from the body. Dean Winchester loves this man as Castiel loves his own Father, and will not stand for him to be harmed. He will never stand for anyone innocent to be harmed, and that is what softens Castiel's gaze and tone as he meets the human's eyes. "We need to talk, Dean." he says firmly but not harshly, and looks to the sleeping body of the Righteous Man's companion as the human follows his gaze. "Alone."

Castiel is given to understand that the usage of a human's first name implies closeness, comfort, camaraderie, which is exactly what he wants to instill within Dean Winchester's oh-so-fragile human psyche. He is not here to harm, but to help. Forty years is a long time for a human, and the soul that flutters within the grasp of the Righteous Man's flesh is a withered plant in the desert, desperate for the cool waters of comfort and love.

The Righteous Man merely stares at him, not answering. Rage dwells behind his once-bright green eyes, now dull with suffering. He drops to one knee as Castiel obligingly moves his vessel away, checking the vital signs of the elder human –who is, of course, perfectly unharmed.

"Your friend is alive." Castiel tells him as he hovers by the table the Righteous Man had removed the knife from, curiously picking up and turning the pages of the book that they had used to summon him. How quaint it must be, to rely on symbols and writing instead his Father's own power.

"Who are you?" the Righteous Man growls.

"Castiel." he replies calmly.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?" Dean Winchester snaps, not losing one whit of his aggressive tone and posture. Castiel looks up from the book to meet the human's gaze.

"I'm an angel of the Lord." he says, and waits patiently for Dean Winchester's next words. He wonders what they will be. Over the years, humans have reacted to this news –this revelation– in many different ways, and Castiel feels as if the Righteous Man will not disappoint.

But Dean Winchester just looks at Castiel, long and hard, and Castiel closes his vessel's mouth after a few seconds. Perhaps he expected too much. The Righteous Man has cynicism festering within him like a disease –Castiel knows, for he obediently put that soul back together piece by shredded piece, and healed it exactly into the human imperfection that it once was –neither more, nor less.

"Get the hell out of here." Dean Winchester says as he slowly rises to his feet. "There's no such thing."

Castiel sees the tenseness in the Righteous Man's jaw. It is not that he does not believe –he _will_ not believe, cannot force himself to see and accept. "This is your problem, Dean." Castiel says chidingly as he places the book down and moves away from the table, walking his vessel closer to the human. "You have no faith."

Castiel –briefly, so achingly briefly– extends his wings, and piercingly bright light flashes across Dean Winchester's startled face as his green eyes move rapidly, tracking the shadows stretching vast and fathomless behind the vessel's back with liquid darts, disbelief etched across his features. Castiel withdraws them again, and watches the Righteous Man's eyes lower back to his face, grudging credulity slowly dawning on the human's features. Castiel nods, encouraging Dean Winchester's budding belief, and the Righteous Man looks down and huffs.

"Some angel you are." he says as he looks back up, his features studiously blank despite the anger Castiel sees dancing behind his green eyes. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looks down at the ground, knowing that this movement is indicative of shame and regret. "I warned her not to set on my true form. It can be..." He stretches out his arms a little as he looks up, signaling his inability to communicate the exact meaning he wishes to convey "...overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice...but you already knew that."

Dean Winchester's eyebrows slant downwards as he quickly conceives Castiel's meaning. "You mean the gas station, and the motel. That was you _talking_?" he asks incredulously, and Castiel nods without words. The Righteous Man looks to the side and shakes his head before glancing up at Castiel. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

Castiel looks down again. "That was my mistake." he admits without shame, and looks up at Dean Winchester again. "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage; I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

Dean Winchester nods impatiently. "And what _visage_ are you in now, huh?" he sneers. "What, holy tax accountant?"

Castiel is unsurprised by the venom in the human's voice. The usage of vessels is abhorrent to the Righteous Man, so long associated in his mind with demons and their ilk.

"This? This is...a vessel." Castiel replies, looking down and tugging the edges of Jimmy Novak's tattered trench coat into a neater position.

"You're _possessing_ some poor bastard?" Dean Winchester growls, and Castiel knew that an explanation was warranted to soothe the Righteous Man's anger before he, once again and futilely, attempted to harm Castiel and his vessel by extension. Castiel was not in the least threatened by such an idea, but Dean Winchester's useless attacks would waste time and energy –his energy, not Castiel's.

"He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this." Castiel replies soothingly.

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?" the Righteous Man grinds out.

Castiel is slightly bewildered by this: he had spoken to him, shown Dean Winchester his wings not minutes ago. Already parroting human motions, Castiel tilts his vessel's head and furrows its eyebrows. "I told you."

"Right." the Righteous Man says with a disbelieving click of his tongue after a few moments. "And why would an _angel_ ," He bites off the word skeptically. "-rescue me from Hell?"

Castiel steps his vessel closer. "Good things do happen, Dean." he tells the Righteous Man comfortingly, firmly.

Something undefinable flickers across Dean Winchester's eyes, his expression tight and controlled. "Not in my experience." he replies through clenched teeth.

"What's the matter?" Castiel asks softly as his head tilts again, curious and slightly confused. In his experience, humans were overjoyed to be in the presence of the Lord and His angels. Even more so in the case of the Righteous Man, for had he not just been rescued from the torment of Hell and reunited with his beloved brother?

Castiel's vessel's eyes widen slightly as realization strikes him –and how natural it is to obey those muscle memories, the leftovers of those social impulses that humans deem so necessary. "You don't think you deserve to be saved." he says softly, and Dean Winchester's throat bobs in a swallow as he tilts his chin down, a halfhearted smirk of denial twitching at the corner of his lips before his mouth firms.

"Why'd you do it?"

Castiel tilts his vessel's head upright again. "Because God commanded it." he says with a firm dip of his vessel's chin. "Because we have work for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: November 5th, 2020


	2. Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively trying another chapter. We'll see how far this gets.
> 
> Also rewatching the old episodes makes me realize how little we see of Cas at first. Like five minutes at the very end and that's IT.

Castiel lets the Righteous Man go, lets him pick up Robert Singer and depart with a few last wary and unbelieving glances. He allows it, because this is the first step of many and Castiel has higher concerns.

Namely, Lilith.

The seals are being broken, that much he knows. The when and where are immaterial: Castiel can feel them, each one a twist in a wound that isn't yet there, like a knife being dragged deeper. The Righteous Man isn't as much as Castiel believed him to be, but that is also immaterial: he is what he is, and that is essential to the plan. He can retreat, reconvene, fumble his way to understanding with his human companions –Castiel will be with the angelic host, getting things done.

Earth is strange. Vessels are strange.

But Castiel fights alongside its –his– _the_ garrison, fights and receives orders, and despite the impending Apocalypse, despite the concern that threads its way through remote corners of Castiel's Grace, all is as it should be. They are doing their best to stem the tide. They will win. There can be no other alternative.

Castiel is growing used to his vessel, how it moves, how it breathes, dim flickers of James Novak's thoughts, tucked away in the fringes of his being. This man is Castiel's vessel, and Castiel is slowly learning how to work with him, to sink into the microscopic contours of his body and not skim over the top, crackling and unrestrained. It doesn't _hurt_ James Novak when he does that, but it is uncomfortable, and Castiel owes his vessel better than that. Humans are his Father's favorite creations –however idiotic they can be sometimes, they deserve care and attention. Castiel is no demon: he won't ride his host recklessly, burn out this extra spirit, even if it _is_ sometimes difficult to fold Castiel's Grace around it, try to cram all of himself –itself– inside this _tiny_ , fragile shell, especially with an extra soul rattling around inside. Human children play a game of "The Ground Is Lava" and that's what Castiel feels like sometimes, shrinking away from the outer confines of his vessel while also eddying away from the spirit at its core, folding and twisting endlessly within the serene guise of his body, unable to push in any one direction without threatening destruction.

Hot, cramped, uncomfortable, _blinding_ –Castiel does not _like_ being in a vessel, but this is his Father's will, and so he must.

At least James Novak is cooperative, in those moments when his soul flickers to the forefront. He doesn't like this either, but he understands the need, which is more than Castiel can say of the Righteous Man. James Novak is nested within Castiel's Grace like an unfledged chick –graceless and ugly, but so, _so_ precious, _a human soul_ – and even though he hates it nearly as much as Castiel does, he doesn't try and pull himself to the forefront, doesn't try to cast out the angel or fight him as some vessels are wont to do. Castiel couldn't imagine that, fighting against flesh that is not his – _its_ – own, feeling a human mind clawing desperately against Castiel's. The thought is abhorrent.

Still, growing used to the operation of a human body, using it to slowly pull back into the realms of awareness that Castiel knows, that is a comfort. His blindness is lifting, and he can see onto other planes again, operate his vessel more fluidly, use his angelic powers with more control through the cloak of flesh. James Novak is settling, receding back, as Castiel learns to operate his body and its senses more gently, with more finesse.

And because of this, unease ripples across his skin like gooseflesh when he feels another Seal broken. The Witnesses have been called up.

Orders come: Castiel is to go to the Winchesters and watch, observe how the Righteous Man works in the setting he is used to, as opposed to the combat he will soon face. However grim their further meaning, the Witnesses are still little more than ghosts, and as such something that should be well within Dean Winchester's purview. Castiel should watch –but not interfere. This is a test, an assessment of what the Righteous Man is capable of within his own sphere, to see how much he will need to be trained and taught.

Castiel goes willingly.

He is interested to find that Robert Singer has built a…panic room, as the Winchesters call it. Very well-prepared, very well thought out. Warded against ghosts, demons, anything and everything within Robert Singer's purview, and he is a hunter with many years of experience. Castiel recognizes the deft touch from the same ritual that had first called him to the Righteous Man's presence, and part of him nods approval. This man will be a valuable asset to the Righteous Man in the future, and Castiel hopes that Robert Singer will survive the Witnesses.

Castiel is…less comfortable when the Righteous Man finally speaks up while preparing his shotgun shells of rock salt.

"See, this is why I can't get behind God." the Righteous Man says after he pauses and his brother gives him an expectant look. Robert Singer looks up as Samuel furrows his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?"

"If he doesn't exist, fine." the Righteous Man says with a curt shake of his head. "Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is."

He looks over his shoulder as though seeking support or to reinforce his statement, but Robert Singer has already returned to his research.

"There's no rhyme or reason –just random, horrible, evil– I get it, okay. I can roll with that." the Righteous Man continues, turning back to the table and gesturing with the tool he was using to pound down the salt. "But if he is out there…what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself –you know, why doesn't he help?"

There is a moment of silence as the Righteous Man angrily goes back to his work preparing the shells, and Samuel and Robert Singer exchange a look behind his back –lost, concerned. They don't disagree, but there's nothing they can say, and the edge in the Righteous Man's tone and posture have worried them.

The conversation moves on, and Castiel is pleased to see that Robert Singer has found the relevant lore already. Perhaps not so pleased that it wasn't the Righteous Man, but Dean Winchester is preparing for the looming confrontation in a different way, a warrior's way. Both are necessary, but the Righteous Man will definitely need to adjust his strategy, making room for both, not just his automatic instinct to fight.

Still, there is smooth practice in how he prepares to go into battle, both him and his brother. This is an area they are more than familiar with, something that they were raised to do. They move carefully, cautiously, but with confidence and precision –and all that comes to a halt as the Righteous Man sees a soul he recognizes. Castiel frowns when he engages with the spirit, talking, but then Robert Singer takes care of the issue before it can become an issue once again. Castiel feels the list of necessary improvements growing.

The Righteous Man will need to be wiser than this, less emotional. Evil and danger could wear a familiar face, and he cannot afford to hesitate because of appearances.

Still, their preparations begin apace. Robert Singer sends the Righteous Man and his brother out through the house to collect ingredients, and they confront and are confronted by ghosts throughout the home. One of the Witnesses manages to injure the Righteous Man, dig nails into his chest in an effort to tear out his heart, but he lives and that's all that matters.

The Winchesters work smoothly enough, after that, standing within a circle of salt and blasting away at the Witnesses as Robert Singer works on the spell and newly-made shells clatter to the floor. Samuel is pinned, but understands the urgency of the mission, has the Righteous Man continue defending the man working the spell. And the Righteous Man _does_ : he does well, even manages an impressive catch when Robert Singer is injured and drops the bowl, throwing the completed ingredients into the fireplace as the Witnesses are dispelled.

Well enough, Castiel thinks, but sloppy. They need to be better, they _all_ need to be better, to be prepared for what is coming.

He goes to the Righteous Man in his dreams that very night, when crickets are chirping peacefully outside the Singer home and everyone within it is asleep. The Righteous Man senses his presence almost as soon as he manifests and shifts, opening his eyes and slowly lifting himself, turning to see Castiel in the kitchen. Next he immediately looks towards his brother, and Castiel is pleased by the protectiveness, the concern in his posture. Sloppy, uncoordinated, and all too _human_ , but Dean Winchester _is_ the Righteous Man and protection and loyalty are in his nature.

Silently, he gets up, walking towards where Castiel is leaning back against the kitchen cabinet, hands placed casually against it as though bracing himself. Dean Winchester is unpredictable, hard to fathom, and Castiel does not want his presence to register as a threat. He is trying to look as human as he can, to appear as something the Righteous Man would understand and welcome. They are on the same side, and Dean Winchester needs to understand that.

His green eyes are incredulous, wary as he slowly paces closer to Castiel, like a cat that's not quite identified something. He's not sure if he's awake or asleep, if Castiel is here or a vision. There's something else underneath that, something like frustration or anger.

"Excellent job with the Witnesses." Castiel offers. For three mere humans to defend against the consequences of an opened seal, that _is_ impressive: the more so when this one had effects of an even larger scale than usual. Just because they were sloppy in the doing does not mean that the final result is any less commendable.

"You were hip to all this?" the Righteous Man asks hoarsely, anger rising like a tide beneath his lowered voice.

"I was, uh, made aware." Castiel says, wondering for a moment if mimicking the slang would be more appropriate.

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance." Dean Winchester snaps incredulously, before tapping a finger repeatedly against his injury. "You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest!"

"But you didn't." Castiel replies patiently, giving the Righteous Man an admonishing look.

"I thought angels were supposed to be, _guardians_." Dean Winchester snapped, gesturing briefly. He holds Castiel's eyes as he speaks, disdain and anger shimmering deep within his gaze. "Fluffy wings, halos –you know, Michael Landon. Not _dicks_."

Castiel smiles briefly at those childish notions.

"Read the Bible." he said, watching Dean Winchester's eyebrows twitch upwards. "Angels are warriors of god. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah, then why didn't you fight?" the Righteous Man returns instantly. Defiance and skepticism are barely constrained within him –he might accept Castiel is an angel, but apparently that does not mean he accepts Castiel's authority, or gives him respect.

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder." Castiel says, shifting as a flicker of annoyance winds through him. "We had larger concerns."

"Concerns?" the Righteous Man repeats loudly.

Castiel blinks, glances away. He is depressingly resigned to what will probably be another human temper tantrum.

"There were people getting torn to _shreds_ down here!" Dean Winchester spits angrily. "And by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your _boss_ , huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a God." Castiel answers.

"I'm not convinced." Dean Winchester replies. Castiel knows this, and is glad that Dean Winchester does not know the truth –that God is not the being that humans envision, that He has become reclusive…distanced. That very, very few angels have had the privilege of looking upon His face, and that Castiel was not one of them. He glances aside so that the human might not read that in his eyes as the Righteous Man continues angrily, voice lowering again. "'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the Earth? The freaking apocalypse? At one point does he lift a damn _finger_ and help the poor bastards that are _stuck_ down here?!"

"The Lord works-" Castiel began.

"If you say "mysterious ways" so help me, I will kick your ass." Dean Winchester growls.

Castiel raises both of his vessel's hands in a gesture of dismissive defeat, looking away again. Dean Winchester is silent for a moment, and then he speaks again, understanding heavy in his voice as Castiel looks back to meet his gaze.

"So, Bobby was right." the Righteous Man says, walking sidelong, nearer to Castiel, until he reaches the counter. "About the Witnesses. This is some kind of a…sign of the apocalypse?"

"That's why we're here." Castiel agrees. "Big things afoot."

"Do I wanna know what kind of things?" Dean Winchester asks with a frozen, unhappy expression.

Castiel shrugs his vessel's shoulders a little.

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know." he answers calmly, with a reassuring bob of his head, before he glances away, to the living room library and the fireplace within. "The Rising of the Witnesses is one of the 66 seals."

"Okay, I'm guessing that's not a show at SeaWorld." the Righteous Man mutters flippantly.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith." Castiel tells him. They exchange a significant look, and understanding dawns on Dean Winchester's face.

"She did the spell. She rose the Witnesses." he said.

"Mm-hm." Castiel hums. "And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead."

"Of course." Dean says in a tone of realization. "She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor." Castiel acknowledges.

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest." the Righteous Man said with an undertone of hope.

"It doesn't matter: the seal was broken." Castiel says heavily.

"Why break the seal anyway?" Dean Winchester asks, and a thrill creeps down Castiel's vessel. This is the time –the first of many revelations.

"You think of the seals as locks on a door." he explains

"Okay. Last one opens, and…?"

Castiel pauses, then turns away from the kitchen counter, facing the Righteous Man.

"Lucifer walks free."

There is a long, long moment of silence. The Righteous Man's eyes move just barely, imperceptible to anyone or anything but an angel, as he digests this information. Horror blooms and twists within his soul, horror and fear and denial and desperation and a thousand other things Castiel can see and even sense, glittering faintly against the handprint branded onto the Righteous Man's shoulder.

"Lucifer?" he finally asks. Castiel gives him a small nod. "But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at, Demon Sunday School. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me." Castiel replies evenly.

The denial in Dean Winchester runs up against a brick wall, and fear and trepidation carry on past it.

"Why do you think we're here, walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?" Castiel asks him softly, watching as horrified understanding finally, finally shines in those green eyes.

"To stop Lucifer." the Righteous Man says hoarsely.

"That's why we've arrived." Castiel says with a nod.

Dean Winchester nods slowly, licking his lips for a moment.

"Well…bang-up job so far." he said, aggression and defiance subsuming his fear, as he had been taught, moving to lean back against the counter as Castiel had done. "Stellar work with the Witnesses. That's nice."

"We tried." Castiel tells him, trying to curb his impatience and irritation. "There are other battles. Other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one, we lost."

Dean Winchester scoffs softly, looking away.

"Our numbers are not unlimited." Castiel says, anger rising in him at the silent dismissal of all he and the garrison had done, stepping closer and forcing him to _look_ , to confront the angel if nothing else. Dean Winchester's eyes flicker up and down his vessel, wary, tense, as he and Castiel come face to face. "Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?"

Dean Winchester is silent.

"There's a bigger picture here." Castiel continues, mastering his anger if not his irritation. He leans slightly closer and Dean Winchester looks away, instinctively acknowledging him as a threat. "You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."

It's the emptiest of empty threats, because Heaven _needs_ the Righteous Man if they are to prevail, but Dean Winchester doesn't know that. He knows only violence and pain, only the endless and soul-destroying grind of hunting monsters and all too frequently being too late to save their victims. He knows that Castiel is not human, and that Castiel is not something he knows how to fight or trap, defeat or evade.

Castiel is reminding him of that, and nothing more.

With the threat and warning appropriately delivered, Castiel returns to the heavenly host to make his report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: November 6th, 2020


End file.
